Lads & Birds
by Fiorenza-a
Summary: Bodie looked up to be met by a curly headed gaze leaning over the first floor guardrail. 'Met Veronica then' Doyle enquired.


Bodie entered the building to be greeted by the bang of a door slamming shut on Doyle's floor and the clatter of high heels on the uncarpeted marble clad stairway. A second later a furious redhead appeared, eyed him up and down disdainfully and gifted him with ''you're welcome to him'' as she swept past in a cloud of Chanel and outrage.

Bodie looked up to be met by a curly headed gaze leaning over the first floor guardrail. ''Met Veronica then?'' Doyle enquired.

''She looks like a nice girl, what have you been up to Raymond my old lad?''

''I can't make her birthday, the Cow has plans.''

''She's knows what you do'' began Bodie righteously, then upon sudden reflection ''you did tell her what you do?''

''I told her I was a policeman, she liked that, said it made her feel safe.''

''Didn't look as if she liked it very much just now.''

''Yeah well coppers get a duty roster, I've got Cowley. Once too often'' replied Doyle unhappily.

''Ah'' said Bodie knowledgeably.

The curly head disappeared from view and a voice echoed down the stairwell ''You'd better come up, I'm in enough trouble with the neighbours as it is.''

Bodie took the stairs two at a time to arrive at the now open doorway. Doyle had disappeared so he closed the door behind him, with somewhat less drama than Veronica had done, set the latch and followed the smell of cooking into the kitchen. Doyle was at the stove stirring a pot. ''Want some?'' he asked.

Bodie took in the table resplendently sporting two candles, a basket full of bread and a sprig of flowers in a bud vase. ''Interrupting am I?''

''Not any more'' Doyle replied. ''Spaghetti OK? It was a sort of thing with me and Veronica.''

''She looked more like a Steak Diane girl to me'' observed Bodie seating himself and removing the napkin from its ring to drape across his lap with a flourish.

''Help yourself to wine'' replied Doyle.

Bodie did as he was bid, pouring for Doyle first as if he were a date. Doyle observed the gesture with a wry smile, commenting in his best Eliza Doolittle ''You 'ave lovely manners you do Mister. Me Mum always said a man 'as 'ad lovely manners was real quality.''

''Your Mum'' pondered Bodie thoughtfully ''little blonde bit, goes by the name of Maisey? Think I remember her, me and the rest of the crew, very popular down at the docks she was.''

''Oi watch it mate'' protested Doyle dishing up ''that's me Mum you're talking about.''

Bodie took the proffered plate from Doyle's hands and Doyle seated himself, only to spring back up again to fish a box of grease spotted cooks matches from the top of the cooker hood. He reseated himself and lit the candles. ''If we're going to do this, we should do it properly'' he explained virtuously.

''Whatever you say Doyle'' said Bodie tucking in. He'd eat to the sound of gypsy violins if it meant some of Doyle's cooking, dab hand was Doyle, unexpected talent, like his painting.

''We met on that job last month'' Doyle informed him.

''The gallery fencing art to fund that lunatic anti-nuclear mob? Wanted to stop bombs with bombs?''

''Yeah, she worked there. She said I was the first policeman she'd ever met could tell a Chagall from a Gauguin. She liked that about me.''

''Bet that wasn't all she liked'' replied Bodie waggling his eyebrows salaciously.

''Well there might have been one or two other things'' admitted Doyle ''not that that's going to do me much good now. How come it never gets to you? Losing them? You never seem to care about it.''

''Oh I've cared'' said Bodie very quietly. ''I have cared. I just haven't always been able to stop them being taken.''

There was a sudden intense sadness in the room and Doyle felt very humble and stupid. He'd never lost a woman the way he knew Bodie had; had them snatched from life in front of his eyes. The closest he'd come to that kind of loss was Bodie. After Syd the fear of it terrified him. ''Sorry mate'' he said ''me and my big mouth.''

Bodie looked up and smiled. ''Sometimes I care'' he admitted again with a shrug. ''But life is life, can't do much about it, just have to get on with it'' then he looked back at his plate so Doyle couldn't read his eyes and added ''can't say I've always wanted to.''

''Sorry mate'' said Doyle again. It was easy to forget what Bodie hid under that irrepressible grin. Bodie made it easy.

''Nice sauce this'' said Bodie and the moment was gone.

It'd taken time for Bodie to trust him with these little glimpses of his soul, not that Bodie was about to admit he had a soul. That trust put him in a very select group. It wasn't a privilege he took lightly, so he didn't press for more than Bodie offered. At least he didn't if Bodie seemed to be functioning. Instead Doyle said ''I always fall too hard.''

''That'd be your artistic and sensitive nature my little sunbeam'' said Bodie irreverently.

''Oh'' said Doyle ''is that what it is? I have been wondering. I knew something was sensitive, I thought it was to do with this funny little rash I've found.''

''Bet you've picked up a few of those in your time'' replied Bodie with an even greater lack of reverence.

''Do you mind?'' objected Doyle ''I've always been very careful, never fancied the idea of some irate father knocking on my door with a shotgun.''

''Do they still do that?'' enquired Bodie looking just a tad uncertain.

''Guilty conscience?''

''I hope not'' replied Bodie.

''Bodie you are careful aren't you?'' Doyle asked with an imperiously raised eyebrow.

''Mostly'' replied Bodie confidently.

''And when you're not?''

''I'm lucky'' replied Bodie smugly, happily leaving any ambiguity unclarified.

Doyle made a mental note to ensure Bodie actually read some of the excruciatingly phrased leaflets the doctor handed out after his twice yearly guest appearance at Cowley's briefings.

''What's in this then?'' asked Bodie poking at the sauce with his fork.

''Tomatoes, basil, mince, bit of garlic...I've got the recipe if you want it'' replied Doyle helpfully.

''Yeah, that'd be good. Cheryl's not a bad little cook, but it's all English, be nice to broaden her horizons.''

''Would've thought she got quite enough of that already'' observed Doyle with a knowing wink.

''One does what one can'' said Bodie, trotting out both his home counties accent and an alarming degree of false modesty.

''Which is more than I can, apparently'' replied Doyle despondently.

''It's the job mate'' returned Bodie loyally ''don't let it get you down.''

''My father was married with a family by the time he was my age'' reflected Doyle.

''Mine too, so what?''

''Makes you think, _time's winged chariot_, an' all that.''

''Makes me think _so many birds, so little time_.''

''You have no soul'' accused Doyle unfairly and inaccurately.

''I know'' said Bodie proudly.

''Seriously, my old mates are all married, or on the way. Kids, a mortgage, some of 'em are even divorced, what have I got? Cowley and a flat that isn't mine and a car I don't own. Have you read the personals? Own house and car. Weeds out the undesirables. That's me. Undesirable.''

''You've got your own hair and teeth'' offered Bodie brightly, amending impishly ''far too much hair and _some_ of your own teeth.''

''Oh cheers very much'' replied Doyle ''that's a great comfort.''

''Oh come on Ray'' admonished Bodie ''so she walked out. There'll be another.''

''Yeah, until that one walks out. Don't you ever want to settle down? Start a family? You happy to head where Cowley's headed? Nothing but regrets and scotch to warm your bed in your dotage?''

Bodie suddenly clattered down his cutlery and got up. He went to the sink and turned on the tap. ''Want some water?'' he asked.

Doyle studied the tense back turned to him. ''Yeah, there's a jug in the cupboard. And some glasses.''

Bodie found the jug and started to fill it while Doyle's mind worked furiously trying to figure out what had unsettled Bodie. Was it the vision of an old and lonely Cowley? The two men were close in their own way, had it been that? Or had he been spooked by the picture of his own old age, bereft of human comfort? Or was it just the vision of an old age? Bodie's longevity was no foregone conclusion. Doyle had been slow to realise just what Cowley had done in teaming them. Before CI5 Bodie had been on borrowed time and everybody, including the man at the sink, had known it. He wondered sometimes if Bodie understood how much that had changed.

Bodie turned off the tap and put the jug he had filled to one side, but he didn't turn round. ''It's not for everybody is it?'' he asked, addressing the taps.

''I think it's for me'' ventured Doyle carefully, uncertain of Bodie's direction of travel.

''Yeah, but for some people it can't happen'' Bodie replied, still with his back to Doyle. ''It shouldn't happen. Couldn't be anything but a disaster. You're better off knowing that about yourself. Maybe Cowley knows that about himself.''

Doyle would have breathed easier if he'd thought for one minute they were discussing Cowley. ''What makes you think that then, eh sunshine?'' he asked gently, hoping not to spook Bodie further.

''Stands to reason. Bloke's got to have some kind of track record'' replied Bodie picking up the jug and glasses and bringing them to the table. ''I mean some kind of long term relationship'' he continued as he sat down ''you know, steady girlfriend at school, celebrated some proper anniversaries.'' He'd lost his napkin in his haste to stand and he absently picked it up and replaced it on his lap. ''Me I went to sea, missed out on all of that. Been one jump ahead of a bullet ever since. Not exactly husband material eh?''

Doyle's breath caught. It was the first time he'd ever heard Bodie use the word 'husband' in a sentence which didn't have a joke in it. Not about himself. ''Yeah, but things have changed now haven't they? You could ask someone now. Get serious. If I can, you can.''

Bodie poured a glass of water for him before setting the jug back down and making a gesture to encompass the dinner they were sharing. ''But you can't, can you?'' he pointed out indelicately ''and if you can't Raymond my old son, I stand no chance. Better off knowing that.''

''But you've thought about it?'' pressed Doyle ''you could see yourself getting married?''

Bodie gave him a wryly honest grin. ''I've thought about it, but seeing it? I can't and neither can the birds, you know that. Besides'' he added with a self satisfied smirk, pointing to himself with the aplomb of a magician's assistant, ''be a crime to take this off the market.''

''We won't be young forever, what happens when we get grey hair and wrinkles?''

''You tell me, seems to me you're doing okay with grey hair'' responded Bodie, reaching across the table to ruffle his curls.

''Don't remind me'' muttered Doyle ''I put it down to the stress of the job.''

''Villains getting you down?''

''The villains I can handle, they only want to shoot me, it's you and Cowley give me nightmares.''

Bodie beamed beatifically. ''You dream about me, how sweet, do you want a lock of me hair for under your pillow?''

''If I got anywhere near you with a pillow I'd smother you and save meself a lot of aggravation.''

''You do care'' simpered Bodie, fluttering his eyelashes in the world's least convincing impression of a Southern Belle.

''There's soufflé for afters if you're interested.''

''Always interested Ray my old chum, and not just in soufflé.''

''One track mind'' Doyle observed reprovingly as he got up to clear the plates.

''I blame Hornby'' Bodie informed him.

Doyle deposited the empty plates in the sink and then opened the oven door to retrieve the soufflé. He eyed it critically. ''It's sunk a bit, I got distracted.''

Bodie cast his eyes in the direction of the offending dessert. ''Looks edible from here.''

''You'd eat it, if it looked like a pancake'' responded Doyle disparagingly. He took a serving spoon and carved out a portion of the soufflé for himself and was about to do the same for Bodie but instead, thinking better of it, he stuck the spoon in the soufflé and turned to present Bodie with the whole dish.

Bodie's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. Reward enough for the gift of one slightly deflated soufflé.

''I never understand where it all goes'' Doyle commented as Bodie commenced demolishing his prize.

''Growing...'' began Bodie predictably.

''Yeah, yeah, growing lad'' Doyle acknowledged ''but by rights, the way you eat, you should have grown into Moby Dick by now.''

''Work it all off, don't I'' Bodie responded.

''I don't know how'' replied Doyle.

''Birds and bees mate, beats a gym any day'' said Bodie ''you should try it.''

''I'd planned to, tonight, but Veronica had other ideas if you remember.''

''Pity that, she looked like she could give you a bit of a workout. Right little firecracker.''

''Forget it Bodie, she wouldn't want you.''

''Why not?''

''She thinks you're a thug.''

''Why?''

''Because she was in the gallery when you grabbed that bird with the green hair.''

''Green hair and about four pounds of explosive, doesn't that count for anything?''

Doyle shook his head. ''Nope, she still thinks you're a thug, thinks you should have talked her into coming quietly.''

''That copper tried that, she shot him. Did you mention that when you were discussing my thug like qualities?''

''What and have her think you were all misunderstood and heroic, not flaming likely.''

''You've a very nasty vindictive streak Doyle, anybody ever mention that?''

''Nobody who can still breathe through their nose.''

Bodie sucked on his spoon thoughtfully. ''Okay Casanova, what's the plan for tonight then?''

''Do the dishes, watch the telly, drown my sorrows. Probably in that order, and to think I joined the mob for the excitement.''

''That does it Raymond my old lad. I have a better plan, let your Uncle Bodie be your guide.''

''The last time I did that Cowley threatened to suspend me for two whole weeks.''

Bodie looked theatrically aggrieved. ''How was I supposed to know she was the Minister's God daughter?''

''And what about that East German bird?''

''What, Cowley's defecting shot putter? I thought you liked the athletic type.''

''Not when they can carry me to the bed.''

''Swept you off your feet did she mate?'' Bodie's smirk would have driven a saint to murder.

''Swept me off everything, don't you know any nice gentle girls?''

''Plenty'' said Bodie ''but I'm not letting you anywhere near them.''

Doyle got up and started to clear the table. Bodie held onto his soufflé dish with the tenacity of a terrier. ''Planning to lick the pattern off that are you mate?'' asked Doyle.

''Always one more spoonful if you try'' replied Bodie loftily, scraping the spoon round the dish to capture every last morsel.

''Give me that'' said Doyle removing the dish from his grasp. Bodie relinquished it without protest, but held onto the spoon, licking it clean with relish. ''_And_ that'' said Doyle, wresting the spoon from Bodie as well.

Bodie leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach with both hands contentedly. ''You need to get dumped more often sunshine, I could learn to like this.''

''I get dumped often enough, thank you very much'' replied Doyle archly.

''Perils of the job mate'' observed Bodie philosophically. ''You up for this then or what?''

''Up for what?'' asked Doyle.

''Uncle Bodie's magical mystery tour.''

''And where does 'Uncle Bodie' think he's taking me?''

''Well if I told you that...'' began Bodie,

''...it wouldn't be a mystery tour'' finished Doyle putting the last of the tableware away.

Bodie got up and found Doyle's jacket, holding it out for him to put on. Doyle snatched it from him with a feigned sullenness and led the way out of the flat with 'Uncle Bodie' gambolling after him like an excited puppy.

Bodie managed to skirt round him on the stairs to reach the street door ahead of him, pulling it open and waving him through with a flourish. ''The night is ours Doyle'' Bodie informed him poetically ''the world our oyster.''

''Pub?'' suggested Doyle succinctly.

''Pub'' agreed Bodie and they fell into step, jostling each other unnecessarily.

''Who needs birds?'' declared Doyle.

''Blokes'' said Bodie emphatically, then he ruffled Doyle's hair in solidarity and added ''but we can give 'em a miss for one night.''

END


End file.
